Lowered Inhibitions
by Cosset
Summary: Harry has to face the consequences of his drunken conversation with Ginny. Set before HBP.
1. Compliments

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

_I realize that this probably seems out of character. Oh well. Review, please. (This is unbetaed, so if there are any mistakes please tell me.)  
_

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**Lowered Inhibitions**

Harry Potter was drunk.

Fred and George's stash of fire whiskey seemed to be the cause; they pulled him into their room and insisted that it was time he became a man. And apparently, to Fred and George, becoming a man meant drinking obscene amounts of alcohol and gossiping like a bunch of ten year old girls.

"No!" Ron was lying on George's bed, hugging a pillow to his chest in an oddly intimate way. "If Snape were shagging anyone if a broom closet, it would be Flitwick! Have you seen the way they look at each other?"

Harry, who preferred to think of Snape as a completely asexual being, had heard enough. He walked, or rather wobbled, to the door, mumbling something about needing air. Harry walked as quietly as he could to the Weasley's garden, hoping that the dizzying sensation he felt would subside soon.

He didn't realize that there was another occupant in the garden until she addressed him in a questioning tone:

"Harry? What are you doing out here?"

Harry sat up quickly, his head spinning as he did. He turned to stare at Ginny Weasley, who was looking rather concerned.

"Well hello there, Ginevra. Does anyone ever call you that?"

"Considering I hex anyone that does, no."

"You didn't hex me." Harry grinned at her. "And I think it's a pretty name."

He stared at her, and Ginny began to feel uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

"And it suits you," he continued "because you're pretty. Beautiful, actually."

Ginny was glad for the darkness, because she was sure that she was now blushing a deep scarlet.

"Are you drunk?" Ginny was torn between laughing at his obvious intoxication and running far away. Harry was different like this; he was clearly more open, and if possible, more intense. She wasn't sure she could handle him like this.

"Yes," he said proudly, "but even if I weren't, I'd still think you're pretty. Because you are."

Ginny looked away, but before she could speak, Harry continued.

"And your hair is amazing. I've always just wanted to reach out and touch it, you know? To see how many colors of red I can count."

And much to Ginny's surprise, he did just that. He actually reached up and ran a hand through her long hair.

"Yup," he said, grinning at her again. "Just as soft as I thought..."

"Harry, stop." Ginny spoke unconvincingly, as she had rather enjoyed the feeling of Harry's hand tangled in her hair. This could only lead to complications.

"And I just love your freckles..." Harry continued as though he hadn't heard her. "I would love to just spend a day finding every single freckle on your body, Ginny."

Ginny knew she should be offended; Harry was practically leering at her as he imagined counting her freckles. But she wasn't. Instead, she felt complimented, and special, and rather warm as she sat in the garden on this cold night.

"Some day I'll count them all, Ginny."

Ginny allowed Harry, who seemed completely serious, a small smile. She was dreading, yet almost hoping, that he would continue with his positive (and positively smashed) evaluation of her appearance.

"And your lips..." Harry trailed off, staring directly at her mouth, which had opened slightly in surprise.

After another moment of staring, Harry started talking again, almost to himself.

"So soft, and pink, and pretty..."

Harry drew a finger towards her face; Ginny seemed unable to move. His finger landed softly on her bottom lip, and lightly began to trace her mouth.

This action brought Harry partially out of his drunken stupor, and his eyes changed from their previous hazy green to a dark, almost black color. Ginny almost shuddered at the desire shown in them.

"Harry!" she said. "Harry, you're drunk. You need to go back and sleep this off." It couldn't happen like this; if she were going to be with Harry Potter, Ginny wanted it to be real, not some stupid decision made by Harry when he could think clearly.

"No, I need you, Ginny." His stare was far too intense for her.

Harry advanced on her, his mouth pressing hard against her. Almost against her will, Ginny responded. This caused Harry to pull her closer, his hands moving from their place on her hips to push up her sweater, moving up to her stomach.

This movement seemed to bring Ginny back to her senses, and she quickly pushed Harry's chest so hard he lost his breath.

"No, Harry. We can't do this." She seemed close to tears. "You can't do this to me." She rose and walked briskly back to the house, away from Harry.

Harry sat unmoving, not full comprehending what just happened. All he knew was that he had just made a huge mistake, and that now he was left alone with a strong need for Ginny Weasley.


	2. The Morning After

Harry woke the next morning with a pounding headache. He stretched, trying to ignore the stabbing pain as he did so.

Harry barely remembered last night. He remembered drinking. A lot. But the events of the night were blurry and Harry barely wanted to recall them, lest he embarrassed himself while drunk. With Fred and George, that was always a possibility. Harry grimaced at the thought.

He walked quickly down the Burrow's stairs and into the kitchen, hoping that no one there noticed his rather obvious hangover. Luckily, only Ginny was in the kitchen, and she didn't even seem to nice Harry's arrival. She was sitting at the table, absentmindedly picking at a piece of toast. She looked incredibly, with dark circles under her eyes and a look of concentration on her face.

Harry vaguely remembered talking to Ginny the previous night. He hoped that he hadn't made a fool of himself in front of her. Harry blushed lightly; it would be quite ironic if he was now embarrassing himself of her instead of the other way around.

"Hello, Ginny," he said, sitting down at the table across from her.

Ginny looked up at him sharply. She stared at him with open accusation, and yet with apparent confusion as well. She didn't say a word, instead going back to her breakfast.

Harry looked puzzled. Had she not heard him? Or was she angry at him for some reason?

"Ginny?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, making a small noise in the back of her throat.

'Harry Potter," she said in a quiet, seething tone "if you think you can just come down here and act as if nothing has happened..." She stopped, seeing the astonished look on Harry's face.

"Ginny, what on earth are going going on about?"

The realization hit her swiftly – he didn't remember. Harry didn't remember last night.

She felt like crying and screaming at him all at once. Here she was, spending all of the night awake and turning the events over and over again in her mind. And apparently Harry had been passed out somewhere, blissfully unaware of what he had done.

He had no idea that he had brought back feelings that Ginny had tried so hard to get over. He had no idea that when Ginny finally drifted off to sleep that night, her dreams had been full of Harry, and a continuation of that night. He had no idea that she had agonized over this encounter, wondering again and again what she would say when she say her in the morning.

He didn't remember.

And now he was staring at her, the look of confusion on his face almost comical. Almost.

"Ginny? What are you talking about?" He asked again, wondering what had caused her to go so pale.

Ginny had no idea how to respond. Should she tell him about last night?

No, she decided, she couldn't do that. It would just make this thing even more embarrassing and awkward, and Ginny knew she would never be able to retell the story without blushing tremendously.

The sound of Harry's voice last night made her blush even now. It was so deep and husky, practically growling as he complimented her again and again. Did he mean what he had said, or what it the influence of the alcohol alone? He would have to be pretty drunk not to remember what had happened the next day. It was likely he didn't mean anything at all.

"Uh, never mind, Harry," she told him hastily. "Forget about it."

Before she could say anything else she would regret, Ginny got up from the table and left the room.

Once again, she left Harry Potter alone, his mind reeling at the implications of what she had said.


	3. Midnight Conversations

_**AN: So, this is the last chapter. Thanks for reading, and please review. **_

_**I can't say I really like this chapter, or how I ended it (it just doesn't feel right), but hopefully you do. :) Tell me what you think.**_

_**Let me know if you see any mistakes.**_

Harry couldn't sleep; he kept replaying the days events over and over again in his mind. After Ginny ran away from him, almost in tears, he did not know what to do. He spent the rest of the day in a haze, unable to think clearly and unsure about how to act. Ginny was fervently avoiding him, and Harry wasn't sure whether to be glad or annoyed at this fact. He knew it would be awkward, but it was also uncomfortable not talking to each other.

Harry knew he had to do something; it was obvious he had messed up, and he couldn't stand the thought of things continuing this way with Ginny. If only he could remember...

Just as Harry was about to drift off to sleep, an image flashed through his mind..._Ginny's bright red hair stood out in the night, and he was sitting next to her on the grass.._

His words flew through his mind before he could grasp them..._something about her hair, and her freckles_...what had he said? It was like a dream that was slipping away...s_omething about wishing he could count of all of the freckles on her body_... 

Harry sat up with a start. He couldn't have said that to her, could he? No, maybe that _was_ just a realistic dream...although he could help but think that he had said those words to Ginny...

He couldn't stand the thought of not knowing. He needed to talk to Ginny. He thought briefly about waiting until morning, but this seemed too important. Another minute spend waiting would only add to the confusion.

As quietly as he could, Harry got out of bed and hurried to the door. If Ron woke up, Harry knew he would have a hard time explaining why he was sneaking into Ginny's room this late at night...

As he arrived at her door, he began to doubt his decision.

He didn't even know how Ginny had reacted last night. What if, after he practically ask to count her freckles, she had slapped him or something? This would just embarrass him further.

Without further thought, Harry softly pushed open the door. It was too dark to see anything, but Harry could make out the outline of her bed across the room. Soon enough, he was next to her bed, and Ginny was still asleep.

How was he going to do this? Should he wake her up? He didn't even know what he was going to say to her when he did...this idea seems to get worse and worse as time went by.

Ginny seemed to sense his presence in the room. Her eyes slowly opened, and she turned to look at him.

"Harry?" Her voice was soft and she seemed to still be half asleep.

Still not knowing what to do, he knelt beside her bed and leaned closer to her.

"Ginny," he began. "I'm really sorry to wake you, but I think we need to talk and it can't wait..."

She seemed to realize just then that this wasn't part of a dream. She bolted upright, and her wide eyes rested on Harry.

"Uh, sure Harry." She still seemed uncertain that he was really in her room. "What do you want to talk about?"

It sounded silly even to her; they both knew, of course. It had been on both their minds since it had happened.

"Ginny," he started again, whispering. "I just want to apologize first, before we even talk. I hardly remember anything, but that's not an excuse. So I'm sorry."

"Just how much do you remember, Harry?"

Harry blushed at this; he knew that he needed to tell her what he recalled, but he wasn't even sure if it hadn't been merely a dream about her..."

"Well," he tried to keep his voice level. "All I remember if talking to you in the garden..."

Ginny stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

"...and I do remember talking about your freckles...something about counting them, I think...did that actually happen?" It sounded ridiculous even to Harry's ears.

Ginny took in a sharp breath.

"Yes."

Harry groaned quietly. He didn't want her to know his thoughts...he regretted more than ever drinking with Fred and George...

"...that's not all, Harry." Ginny couldn't seem to look him in the eye even in the darkness of her room. She motioned to the bed, giving him permission to sit down. "Do you want to know what happened?"

"Yes, of course I do." Harry needed to know everything he had done, so he could move on from his mistakes.

"Okay, well I guess I'll start from the beginning..." Harry could tell Ginny wanted to tell this story just about as much as he wanted to hear it.

"I was sitting in the garden, and you came stumbling over..." Ginny smiled despite herself. "First, you called me by my real name, which I didn't even realize you knew." She laughed softly.

As she remembered what happened next, Ginny grew more uncomfortable.

Sensing this, Harry spoke up: "Ginny, please tell me. I really need to know this, I can't keep questioning what I did."

Nodding, Ginny continued.

"And then you said that it was a pretty name, and that it suited me, because – well, you said because I was pretty. 'Beautiful, actually' was how you worded it."

Harry blushed even deeper. It was so embarrassing, hearing his words repeated at him like this. And he found that tonight, they were still true to him. Ginny was beautiful.

Ginny sighed and started talking again. "You were clearly drunk, but you just couldn't stop talking, Harry. You went on to compliment my hair, and then you actually ran your hands through it. You're lucky I didn't slap you."

Harry tried to laugh, but he couldn't find much humor in the situation. It was humiliating, to be honest.

"And then, yes, you moved on to my freckles. You promised, that um – that some day you would count them all." Ginny's blush was almost as deep as Harry's now – it didn't help that Harry seemed to be moving closer to her with every word she spoke, clearly unconsciously.

"God, Ginny, I am so sorry." Harry felt truly ashamed at how he had acted that night; he made a vow never to touch Fire-whiskey again.

"It's not over yet." She grinned ruefully at him. The truth was, even though she was embarrassed beyond belief at retelling this, she was curious as to how Harry would react when she was done.

After that," she went on. "You, uh, focused on my lips. You traced them with your finger and then..." She stopped, unsure about how to tell him the next part.

"Please continue, Ginny." Harry was now directly facing her, looking ashamed but interested about what she was saying.

"...and then you kissed me, Harry."

Harry groaned again, but before he could apologize, Ginny continued.

"But it's not all your fault, really. I let you, and I responded, and things just got out of control. I shouldn't have let it go that far, Harry. I wasn't the drunk one."

Harry didn't respond; he simply stared at her, unable to bring his thoughts into words. He couldn't believe that his first kiss with Ginny was when he was too drunk to remember any of it.

Ginny's voice brought him back to reality.

"Harry," she said, almost too quietly. "There's just one thing I need to know..." 

"Anything. I owe you as much."

"I need to know how much of that was the alcohol talking, and how much of it was you." She seemed to regret the words as soon as she spoke them.

Harry realized that this was his one chance to tell her everything. It was her right to know, after everything he had put her through recently.

"Well," he began. "the alcohol had its effects, obviously --"

Ginny's face fell immediately.

"...I mean, I was quite forward, wasn't I?"

She quietly laughed and nodded, though she still seemed sad.

"But, uh," Harry laughed nervously. "I wasn't lying at all. Honestly, I meant everything I said."

Ginny felt light headed and giddy.

"Even the part about counting my freckles?"

"Especially that part." Harry was just glad that she hadn't hit him yet, or run away again. He smiled uncertainly at her.

They were sitting so close now that their knees were overlapping on the bed. They were holding hands as well – Harry didn't know whether he had initiated this or not; their entire conversation was blurry and Harry couldn't believe it had actually happened.

Ginny was looking at him expectantly. He grinned at her and leaned forward, their lips touching almost too gently before he moved closer to her. His hands found their way to her hair, tangling them in it as he deepened that kiss. Soon, they were laying back on her bed, and Harry's hands were once again pushing up the material of her shirt as his hands felt the soft skin of her stomach. Ginny moaned into his mouth, and the sound was so arousing that Harry knew he had to stop before he couldn't... 

"Ginny?" His voice sounded gruff to his own ears, and it felt hard to breath.

"Hmm?" She looked dazed, with a small smile on her face. Her hair was spread out all around her, looking messy and amazing...her eyes were darker than their normal light brown, and the buttons on her top had somehow come undone in the frenzy...

"You have about 11 freckles just on your nose."


End file.
